Strife
by RedIn
Summary: The plot occurs after the events of DA2. A modern universe where anyone who had the misfortune to be born a mutant has to be registered and placed into special, isolated facilities where he or she learns to control their abilities and not threaten society. Anyone who objects is thrown into special prisons or just vanishes. Anders and Falcor were spared after...
1. Chapter 1

The plot occurs after the events of DA2.

A modern universe where anyone who had the misfortune to be born a mutant has to be registered and placed into special, isolated facilities where he or she learns to control their abilities and not threaten society. Anyone who objects is thrown into special prisons or just vanishes.

The world is still shaken after the quickly spreading Darkspawn virus was stopped, taking half of the population with it. Everything is chaos and uncertainty. The Chantry Institute is on the rise, its half-religious half-political propaganda is leaking in and its unofficial army of templars is more than just mutant hunters.

Anders and Falcor were spared after they started something they didn't know how to finish, something bigger than their lives. Now they keep running and everything is at stake.

Ferelden,Gwaren, Kleinszen 10:05 am, Wintermarch 2012

They met in the middle of a crowded market street. The Sunday market was almost a social event for the terrified population; people were selling and buying, chaffing, joking and daring to be simply at ease for a moment. But Falcor Redin was far away from feeling calm. He inhaled the air cautiously, searching. The familiar scent of herbs and freshness was barely noticeable amongst so many other smells. He gritted his teeth, clutching at his side when a passer-by's elbow accidently dug into it.

Falcor really hated crowded places.

He spotted the blond bolting out of a truck's back door and waving to the driver. The old, bald man nodded at his passenger and drove down the street.

Falcor simply stood there. He wanted to call out the right name but the pulsating pain on his side and the unwanted proximity of so many disturbing scents and voices made him a bit lightheaded. So he leaned against a nearest solid object he could find; a perfume stall (what a terrible choice) to the clear annoyance of the seller.

The blond turned around, finding him in this mass of people as if he was feeling him. Maybe he was. Looking into the surprised amber eyes Falcor tried a faint smile. Within a moment the blond man pushed his way through the crowd, ignoring the greetings he received, and reaching out for him.

Their fingertips touched hesitantly at first and then their fingers laced together, their grip tightening to the point of pain, as proof that it was real; both of them were still alive.

Pressed together by the movement of citizens passing by, the two just shared a moment of mutual relief. "Anders," Falcor breathed out.

The blond mutant's eyes filled with concern at the paleness of his lover. "They got you this time, didn't they?"

The redhead just gave a small nod, whispering urgently. "There were too many of them to take out... it's just a scratch. No need to worry about it. I couldn't lose them this time. They are coming for us." He half-closed his eyes, free hand discreetly landing against the hidden wound. But Anders noticed the involuntary movement. "Scratch, ha? Let's take you to a safer place where I'll be able to examine you."

Unresisting, Falcor allowed himself to be led through the narrow side streets. He'd trusted his lover with his life for more than two years already. Perhaps Anders was the only one he could trust. In a normal condition Falcor would take notice of small things to mark the way around, memorizing the path. But right he couldn't do more than moving his legs. The last few days were harsh on him; between running away from the templar hunters, being wounded and having little time for rest or food, the mutant was exhausted. Even his inhuman stamina wasn't endless.

He was quite relieved when they stopped near a seemingly random door and Anders knocked a rather vivid pattern of encoded message. Shortly the door cracked, open enough for them to slide in.

Falcor blinked. He found himself in a half-dark room, a bedroom and a dining hall and a kitchen, all at once. A startled child looked up at him, smelling of onion and fear. She gave the newcomers a terrified look, relaxing only after she recognized Anders.

"Lena, it's okay. The healer and his friend won't hurt us. Go play with your teddy bear." A soft feminine voice behind his back hurried to calm down the girl. Falcor turned around. The woman was old, hair already gray and many wrinkles marked her pale skin. She nodded at him, hugged Anders and immediately promised them her famous soup.

Anders smiled at her gently, stroking her grey hair, an elegant brow furrowing questioningly as he squinted at the playing girl. The woman sadly shook her head, whispering to the blond. "No, she's still said no word, Healer. Not since…that incident." Falcor's sharp hearing caught the exchange between the two. He squinted at their direction but remained silent. Anders's saddened expression didn't escape his attention either. The healer just softly squeezed woman's shoulder and helped the redhead in.

Two minutes later Falcor was relieved of his heavy, hooded coat and familiar, expert fingers pulled up his sweater and undershirt to inspect the poorly bandaged wound. He was gently pushed to the small bed and obediently lay down. The child climbed off the bed in an instant and rushed to her grandmother's side. It was clear that he scared her. Falcor wasn't surprised. After all, he didn't have Anders's fine features or his charming ways, and scarred tissue instead of an eye wasn't a very pleasant view for sure.

Anders leaned closer as he tried to examine the gunshot wound in the dim light. He could see the jagged edges of skin and flesh and the dried blood all around. There was a fair amount of it on the improvised bandage. "I'll have to pull out the bullet before I'll be able to heal you," he said, quietly hiding the frown.

Falcor nodded weakly. Anders was already rummaging in the healer's bag he always carried on him. "Merissa. I'll need hot water and some clean towels or rugs," he turned his head to the older woman. Instructed by her, Lena ran to the old, crooked closet and brought Anders a few towels while Merissa heated up some water.

Anders gave Falcor a piece of wood and advised him to bite on it. Falcor nodded again. He'd need it. The one eyed mutant howled in pain when the thin, heated tongs made contact with his flesh. Anders was as gentle as possible but the pain was still intense. He bit harder into the piece of wood and tried to remain as quiet as possible and still couldn't prevent the muffled screams. Luckily, the pain was short-lived and he took a shuddering, whimpering breath as he spat out the stick he'd almost bitten in two. Falcor could feel the girl's eyes lingering on him, the smell of fear in the air increasing. He licked his dry lips and concentrated on Anders instead. Anders murmured something soothing in the background. He nimbly yet tenderly healed the bleeding again injury and wiped away the blood. As usual there was no sign left except the new, pink, sensitive skin.

"Stay down. You've lost too much blood." Anders gave him a stern look just when the red haired mutant tried to pull himself up. He knew his lover well. "Doctor's orders," Anders added in a harder tone.

Falcor rolled his eye but didn't find any resistance in him. Instead he just rearranged his clothes. "Thank you. Again."

Anders gave him his special smile, the one he kept only for his lover. It was small and tired but reached his honey eyes. Falcor could never resist it, lips spreading in a similar countering gesture.

"The soup is ready." Merissa chimed in in an over-cheerful tone.

They ate in silence. The girl finally left Merissa's skirts and returned to her previous place, her dirty face curious and still a little fearful as she stared at them.

Falcor managed to finish half of his plate before a well-known siren disturbed the fragile moment of peace. He tensed up. Templar patrol. Anders paled but tried to remain calm. He grabbed Falcor's coat and threw it at his direction. They rushed to dress up and collected their stuff erratically.

Little Lena left her teddy bear on the bed as she occupied Falcor's seat in a practiced move and grabbed the spoon, eating the soup. "Over here." Falcor turned at Merissa's strained voice. The woman pressed somewhere on the side wall where the crooked closet was, he heard a tiny rusty noise activating something and a small opening was revealed. 'Hurry up. The siren's getting closer," she urged them. She hurried to close the secret passage's entrance after them, pushing the closet back and took Anders's place near the table.


	2. Chapter 2

Free Marches ,Starkhaven, 11:00 am, Wintermarch 2012

A simple black car stopped before the large, fancy house. The only passenger, a black haired, middle-aged man in army clothes, brushed his fingers over the half-open leather case lying in his lap. His impassive eyes passed over Sebastian Vael's villa, unaffected by its wealthy façade.

His uniform was quite plain, a grey fatigue uniform. Only a golden seeker's symbol on his shoulders gave away his high rank. The Seeker's face, thin and not sun-kissed, partly hidden by thick quadrangular glasses, was thoughtful as he pulled the folders closer.

His mind was still pondering the leather case's content.

Two stocky folders with the stamp SECRET INFORMATION on each of them, each containing all they could gather about two extremely dangerous mutants he was after. Mutants that had somehow managed to escape the long hands of the Chantry Institute so far.

The Seeker opened the first folder, examining a picture of a blond, gaunt young man with an aristocratic nose and tired brown eyes. This was their most recent picture of Anders, known as The Healer (his real name or origins were quite a mystery), taken a few days before the incident (which was more than a half year ago). This mutant had a rare gift of mending people instead of hurting them. Yet he was a defiant and rebellious personality who couldn't accept his place. After many escapes he was conscripted by Wardens instead of being punished for his insolence.

_A bitter rebel with warden's training. That is interesting. He even managed to escape them, who knew it was possible?_

Lately he was called the Kirkwall Terrorist by the press. This picture had been snapped secretly without Anders knowing of course. It was made by a spy of theirs. A pity the man didn't survive long enough; he had been quite useful. All he knew about Anders so far was that he used to run a free clinic in Dark Town (surely a cover for his illegal mutant business), wasn't captured and brought to Gallows only because he was under Hawke's protection and was not so secretly sneaking mutants out of Gallows.

The other folder contained details of the Nevarran mutant named Falcor Redin. The photography was more recent here, capturing the one eyed man about a month ago. Seeker's eyes lingered on the photography as if studying it for some time. Everything about this individual was long and lithe; dark red hair braided down his back, scarred, strong arms and legs.

As the well-collected information stated, Falcor was one of the few who had managed to outlive Downing's Entertainment's Studios, an illegal, underground fight club which held deadly gladiator battles for public entertainment. People vs. exotic animals, animals vs. mutants, mutants vs. mutants, everything of everything. The place was found eventually and erased about seven years ago along with all involved. Or so they'd thought. Marcus Downing managed to escape to their great dismay, and he wasn't the only one. No one was sure about the extent of Falcor's involvement in the business but he was often seen with Marcus Downing in public. He couldn't be a small fish.

Even more, Falcor was a mutant who wasn't shy about using his abilities when he had to. The Seeker kept reading, lips curling up at the vague description of his mutant powers: Inhuman senses of sight, smell and stamina and an ability to transform into a lynx.

He chuckled softly and shook his head as if amused.

The Seeker stopped his glasses from sliding down his nose and closed the folders again, carefully replacing them into the case. His private driver, a tall, grim soldier opened the car's door for him to march out towards the door.

A perfectly shaven man in a black suit opened the massive door at the second ring and invited him in. The Seeker soundlessly followed the butler into the small but well-furnished room where he was asked to wait.

His hosts, Sebastian Vael and Marian Hawke, didn't let him wait for long.

Still silent like a ghost butler brought them some tea served in the finest porcelain cups, something that meant to impress him perhaps but didn't have that effect. He wasn't a gaping youth, hadn't been for years.

Marian Hawke was a cheeky and loud person from received reports. Both of her deceased father and sister were mutants, the latter unregistered before her twenties and perished in Kirkwall Chantry's explosion incident. Marian had managed to climb her way up from the sewers, ending as a very successful journalist who had a great influence in Kirkwall and hooked up with the most desirable bachelor of the town. Marrying a Vael would bring her closer to the social peak of the wealthy and powerful.

Her fiancé, Sebastian Vael, was the last surviving member of the Starkhaven's governor family. He was a tall man with a soft voice who wore a mask of perfect manners from the moment he walked into the room. The young man lost his mother-figure, the head of the Kirkwall Chantry institute, Elthina, that infamous day. He still wore white despite how much time had passed since then, color of grieving in Starkhaven.

The Seeker shook their hands politely, taking in their timing, well calculated not to appear in a rush or disrespectful. Both of them had attempted a homely appearance, although it was too tidily messed up to appear authentic.

"Seeker Arthur Reeley at your service. I am glad we could meet at least. I thank you for your cooperation and promise not to take too much of your time."

Sebastian Vael greeted him calmly; no emotion but serenity could be seen in his seemingly calm lyrium blue eyes.

"Oh, that's not a problem, Seeker Reeley. We do have some time here and there in between the wedding preparations." Marian took a small sip from her mug, nodding at the Seeker with a polite smile.

They exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries, nice and civil before cutting right to business.

"We'll be glad to assist you with whatever we can, Seeker Reeley," Sebastian confirmed to the other; all lightness goes from his voice. "And I definitely wish for real justice to happen. The terrorists are still roaming the land, and the souls of the victims can't find peace knowing that the evil deeds of the vile mutants went unpunished."

"Of course, Mister Vael. I am here to see to it. Such a crime won't go unnoticed."

Marian placed her hand above Sebastian's and gave it a gentle supporting squeeze. He could see for a moment a flicker of a real emotion between the two; care and deep sadness. Then the mask was up again.

He spent the next few hours interrogating them, recreating the events that led to the madness, taking many detailed notes about the escaped criminals, their habitats, the way they thought, acted and fought. Anything that might help him to get on their trail.

It was known that the two weren't acting alone; there was a mysterious figure behind them, a mastermind of the grand act known as Kirkwall Incident. The man called himself Justice and openly preached against the law. Not many knew his face and lived to tell. Hawke and Vael were one of the lucky (or not so) few who could recognize Justice.

He placed a few pictures of matching the general description men on the table before the two and waited, watching their reaction carefully.

Hawke wasn't an actress at all. With a deep frown, leaning forward, she checked all of the photographs quickly, her perfectly manicured finger stopping near one of them. "It's him. Yes, I recognize him. That's your man."

Marian looked up at him. Her eyes were full of anger and barely concealed pain. Because of Justice and Anders she had lost her last family member, Bethany Hawke. Her sister was a mutant but she was nothing like Anders or Falcor, she was a gentle soul who wouldn't hurt a fly. Marian still clung to the thought that if she had stopped them in time her dearest sister would be still alive.

He looked at the chosen picture of a severe looking man and suppressed a surprised groan. Looking up from the photograph was Erik Lehnsherr, a man known as Justice or in wider circles as Magneto.

Things just became more interesting.


	3. Chapter 3

Ferelden,Gwaren, Kleinszen 11:14 am, Wintermarch 2012

The two clung together as much as it was possible in the rather narrow passage, doing their best to be silent. They had to crawl on their hands and knees, one after the other, to fit. Falcor's now golden feline eye adjusted to the darkness in no time. From what he could see they were in some kind of a long pipe made of old bricks and rusty metal; it was too dark to see where it ended.

From the faint smell spreading in the thick air, he could tell they were in sewers or at least close to them. The mutant wrinkled his nose in disgust. A sensitive sense of smell could be such a burden sometimes.

He stopped and half turned his head back, listening. Voices could be heard through the masked entrance since they were still close to it. Anders hoped they would be able to until the unwanted guests were gone. The voices were too muffled to understand what they were saying yet the tones made it quite clear; the templars were loud and demanding against the soft explanations of the old woman.

Anders was still, one hand covering his lover's reassuringly. It wasn't the first time Merissa had hidden him. It had become quite a reliable shelter, never discovered till now. Who would suspect a hidden door to the sewers in the wall of an old apartment? He hadn't been the first mutant to hide in there and probably wouldn't be the last.

On the other hand, Falcor, always the pessimist, was nervous. He found it difficult to trust the woman. The redhead could only hope their luck wouldn't run out this time.

A minute passed and then another. Neither of them dared to move. Maybe it would end peacefully this time. Without any complications.

The barking was completely unexpected. He could feel Falcor twitching and gasping, a soft noise of distress. Anders knew that his lover and dogs had a long history; his usually brave redhead could panic in sight of one. Even a puppy could scare him sometimes. Anders could only guess it was connected to his past. Falcor didn't like to talk about it.

Indeed, the redhead began to shiver almost instantly. They weren't safe here. If not for the damn dog they would be able to go undiscovered but no, those bastards had to bring a dog along. It would be able to pick up his smell which was probably the purpose. They had to get away, immediately.

He began to push Anders further into the darkness of the rusty pipe; his frantic movements giving away his rising panic.

Anders didn't expect to be pushed forward and hit his shoulder, hissing in pain. "I'm moving, stop pushing me."

He frowned but moved forward. Since the space grew even narrower he had to half-crawl on his stomach, one hand pushing his backpack before him. He didn't want to lose it. Falcor quietly pleaded him to hurry up in a scared voice.

The voices became louder, getting closer to the masked hide's entrance, the anger clearly heard in the templars' shouts.

Both of them froze in mid-movement when a sudden shot ripped through the argument, followed by a sound of a body hitting the ground and then a childish squeal, abruptly cut short by another shot.

Anders cried out their names and hesitated, torn between the healer's impulse to go back to check if one of them was still alive and the urge to run away before he'd be next.

Falcor solved it for him, just pushing him forward forcefully. The one-eyed mutant knew there was nothing they could do, not anymore. They had to move away from the entrance which he just heard being opened and two intense flashlights pierced the darkness a few breaths later.

Anders tried to look back, startled by the blinding lights out of nowhere. The Templars ordered them to surrender, the dog barked, and Falcor crawled faster which led to Anders being forced to crawl forward faster too, scratching his hands and knees over sharp stony shards he could barely see.

One of the flashlights managed to capture the quickly retreating figures of the escapees. The dog made a growling sound somewhere from behind. Falcor yelped in growing distress, bumping into Anders in his rush to get away. The Templars decided it was a time for action and raised their guns in their direction. One of the poorly aimed shots hit a spot near Falcor's left foot. He cursed in Nevarran. To die here, in this stinky, dark piece of sewage wasn't an ending he'd imagined for himself.

Neither of the mutants expected the angle of the pipe to drastically change downwards and suddenly Anders was helplessly sliding down. Falcor came shortly after him; his eye wide with surprise. It happened so fast that they had no time to react.

Even more suddenly, there was no solid surface under them and they were falling.

Luckily the fall was short enough to prevent any broken bones, but not the bruises they'd probably have. It hurt.

The dazed healer groaned. He was lying on his stomach, half pinned to the ground by something heavy. Not very comfortable, he had to say.

For a moment he wasn't sure why he was there, wherever "there" was. But very soon the memory of the last events came back to him. Anders dared to move, very carefully, pushing at the panting body above him. He could feel Falcor stirring as the other removed himself from his form; the redhead's breathing was heavy upon his neck. He nimbly scanned Falcor's limbs, just to see if there was some damage and then did the same examination on himself. Again, they were lucky, all the bullets missed them.

Lena and Merissa weren't. Their luck had run out. Grief washed through him like a freezing wave. He hadn't known them for long, but they were friends. They had risked their lives helping mutants like him for a long time. Heck, Lena's parents had been mutants, who were shot before her eyes. Hadn't she seen enough horrors in her short life!?

He knew what templars did with people like Merissa or Lena. Some part of him was grateful he wouldn't be there to see their cold corpses dragged to the main square, tied to the special columns that were made for that purpose and left to rot with a large sign above them calling them traitors and mutant lovers.

They didn't deserve it.

Meanwhile Falcor looked around, his feline golden eye glowing in the dark. They were indeed in the sewage. His nose wasn't wrong. At least it was a dry part of it, no unidentified liquids and half-liquid substances to fall face-first into. He took one look at the pained expression of his lover and looked away. It was his fault. All of it.

Silently the redhead stood up and helped his lover up. Anders said no word as he followed Falcor. His movements were stiff; almost mechanical. Falcor scowled.

What could he say? Look Anders, I am sorry that because of me those people are dead? Would it change a thing? Falcor doubted it. They were innocent and now they were dead and their bodies were about to be humiliated. And there was nothing any of them could do to change it.

It was almost funny how much thought was dedicated to those people's destiny. They were no more than strangers, friendly but strangers. A few years ago he wouldn't have spared so much time to those thoughts. But meeting Anders, being with him had changed something at Falcor's core.

He didn't believe himself a heartless person. Yet more often than not he had to push aside any emotions or feelings that could sabotage his safe being. He was a hardened survivor, forced to do whatever he needed to just to stay alive. He wasn't proud of things he did. But he was a different man now. Anders didn't make him weaker, Falcor mused, but more human.

Yes, that was the right way to describe it. Falcor had learned how to connect with his emotions. Anders showed him that being compassionate and caring wasn't a luxury.

But it wasn't the right time or place to get sentimental. While they weren't being chased by templars at the moment, the mutant hunters were hot on their tails. Although in reality the whirlwind of his thoughts took less than a minute, every second counted. They had to find their way out.

As if hearing his thoughts Anders voiced them aloud. He still had the same expression of pain on his handsome face, but at least he wasn't drowning in it anymore.

Their faces marked by the grim determination they shared, the two mutants disappeared into one of the dark passages. Still alive. Still together.


	4. Chapter 4

I suggest reading the chapter while you hear that song again and again. I believe it fits perfectly. watch?v=u3dkVk3F57c

Gwaren, Kleinszen 19:35 pm, Wintermarch 2012

Within hours, the place was crawling with mutant hunters. Armed and uncompromising, the Templars searched through the small city, turning everything upside down. They were searching for mutants and indeed they had found some - but not the escaped criminals they were after. Their 'catch' was just a group of terrified children and elders who failed to hide this time. Mutants' accomplices were dragged out and publicly executed. Their rapidly cooling bodies were dumped next to the corpses of an old woman and a little girl. After a short debate, the mutants themselves were shackled and escorted to the one of larger cars. The Circle was the proper place for them: once they'll reach their destination, their fate would be decided by the local Templar-Commander.

Despite all the efforts of the templars, the escaped murderers and terrorists known as Anders and Falcor Redin weren't found. The sewers were searched as well after the templars got hold of the sewer blueprints (which took too much time). All they found were swarms of rats. The runaways had vanished.

Gwaren, 200 miles north to Kleinszen 20:44 pm, Wintermarch 2012

They were so unbelievably lucky. If Falcor was a believer he would fall on his knees to exalt his gratitude to God. Finding their way out the sewers and escaping the city by hiding in a truck delivering bricks without being found by the Templars was no joke. Someone up there was looking out for them.

Ditching the truck on its first stop, they made it to the forest and forged into it. Wilderness was their safest bet.

After blindly treading in the snow for a while with fear pushing them forward and nearly freezing to the death, they found an abandoned gas station. The two cried with the relief of finding a temporary shelter. It was already dark and the heavy snow kept falling, slowing their movement through the thicksubstance.

Of course they were exhausted, very cold, smelling of sewage and hungry but none of it could be compared to the fact they were still alive and free.

Anders broke in, using some brute force. He carefully checked inside before helping the barely standing up Falcor in. It wasn't hard to see that the redhead was able to stand only by pure obstinacy. He was shivering and often held onto his still hurting side.

Rummaging in the chaos of dusty garbage, Anders managed to find a usable bowl, a half full box of matches, a few untouched by some miracle cans, some old wooden furniture pieces; a real treasure for the two. "Hmm…tuna and corned beef…Not bad." Anders mused.

He quickly pulled the wood together and made a small fire, daring to only for his lover. The way Falcor almost collapsed to the floor, curling into himself, skin achieving a bluish shade of a freezing person indicated his dire state. Anders assumed he wasn't looking any better and yet his lover was the one who lost a lot of blood because of this wound from before.

He filled the bowl with snow, cleaning it a bit and then refilled it with fresh snow. He left it near the fire till the snow melted, mixing it with one of the cans and forced Falcor to finish the improvised soup despite of his quiet protests. When some color has returned to Falcor's face, Anders felt a bit less worried. He opened the other can and ate its contents, using fingers.

The smaller man was lying near the fire, as close as it was possible, eye half lidded and watched the flames dancing. He had barely said a word since their fall down the tube, avoiding looking at the blond most of the time, a behavior Anders learned to crack.

Sitting near Falcor he watched the fire as well. "Stop that. It's not your fault. You couldn't know it'd turn out that way."

Falcor didn't react, only twitching.

"Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault. "Anders repeated, firmly holding Falcor's cold palm in his hands. The shorter man grimaced. He couldn't look at Anders. "I should have known they would get a dog…After so much time on a run I should have..." He took a deep breath.

Anders just shook his head in disapproval. "Falcor, look at me. Come on, look at me. I don't blame you. I blame the templars, the blighted system that allows such an abuse and cruelty. Even if you had known there was nothing we could do. Please, love."

Unwillingly and slowly Falcor half turned to him, releasing a quiet huff. "I have managed to find our contact. Justice seemed to receive the message this time. He said through the contact that he may be able to arrange us a passage through the sea, to Rivain. There's someone he trusts to help us. We have to find someone named Hinsi near South Reach post for further instructions."

Anders nodded at the short report Falcor gave him. He was talking again. It was a good sign. "Very well. We'll be on our way after both of us rested and the weather allows us to step out the door."

They had hard time trying to contact Justice after they were separated near Ferelden's south borders. Between trying to keep a low profile (which wasn't easy with their wanted posters all around) and trying to keep their sanity, suddenly they found themselves alone.

"Go to sleep. I promise I'll be here when you will wake up." Anders looked at his stubborn lover who refused to submit to sleep despite his exhaustion.

"I am fine. There is no need to fuss around me. I am not tired." The redhead glared at Anders, still scared to appear weak, a burden, even after years of acquaintance and companionship. Sometimes, although not as much as before, Falcor still acted as if he were a thing and not a person. Anders really wanted to beat the hell out of whomever programed him to act like his feelings and needs weren't important. Like a slave. Just the thought boiled the blood in his veins.

Gently lifting Falcor's face towards him, Anders sealed those dry lips with a tender kiss. His thumbs rubbed redhead's cheeks as the kiss lingered, neither of them willing to stop. "You do need the rest. Stop being so stubborn, will you?"

Falcor made a half irritated sound in the back of his throat but leaned closer. A second kiss soon came, and then another and another.

The tender caresses gradually turned into heated clash of teeth and tongues, both of them fighting for dominance in their desperate urge to find a temporary comfort. A distraction they needed from the rawness of death and stress that followed them every step of their lives recently.

Anders's nimble hands unzipped the other's pants, pushing the thick material down enough to free an already interested cock.

Falcor hissed quietly. He arched, pressing further into the familiar touch. Pleased with his lover's reaction Anders wrapped hand around the hardening cock and began to move it up and down.

He enjoyed hearing Falcor's gasps and moans, nibbling on the slender throat, gently at first but ending leaving marks all over it. To know that he was able to turn this tough man, this fiery fighter into a sweet pile of flesh, flushed and begging for more, did things to him. He couldn't deny it.

Falcor didn't complain, he liked when Anders went passionate, marking him as his. There was nothing wrong with a little rough sex.

Increasing the rhythm of his movements Anders just grinned when he felt shaking hands struggling with his own pants. He helped Falcor to open the tricky button, moaning in turn when his actions were mirrored by a warm hand of his lover.

In no time they were consumed in their lovemaking, drinking each other's groans of pleasure and rocking together.

Falcor came first; a faint long moan accompanied his seed spilling on Anders's hand and their clothes. Anders followed him, aroused by those sweet sounds his lover was making. Sometimes he thought he could come only from hearing Falcor.

They lay on the dusty heap of wheat sacks for a while, panting and too exhausted to move. Eventually their loud breathing calmed down. Anders was the first to shift, squinting at his red haired mate, whose head was on his chest, snoring lightly already. Gingerly he moved away, replacing his chest with a pillow made of his backpack. Falcor's nose twitched but he didn't wake up, curling further into a protective ball around the backpack, calmed by Anders's scent it carried.

Anders used the remains of the melted snow to clean himself and the still sleeping redhead before rearranging Falcor's pants. The red haired mutant didn't stir during the process; he was beyond exhaustion.

Anders took his coat off and covered Falcor's sleeping form. Usually they divided the night shifts in two, each getting a half night to watch while the other rested. But tonight, Anders decided to allow his lover the rest he needed so much.

It'd be a long night of watching.

Anders and Falcor in moment of intimacy. Thank you tarisha!

post/83997876634/falcor-and-anders-one-of-those-hot-moments-i


End file.
